


Bastille Day

by seriousfic



Series: Five times H.G. Wells had her way, and all the times she didn't. [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka misses Helena. She doesn't know if Helena misses her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bastille Day

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during season 3.

  
Claudia really didn't get what was going on. Everyone had seemed fine. Everything had been fine before Helena came, but then she had joined the team and Myka didn't seem so lonely anymore, so that was awesome. And Helena gave Claudia the  _best_  tips on make-up, since she was rediscovering them too. Adolescence spent in mental institution, century spent in cryogenic suspension, what was the diff?  
  
Then suddenly Helena went away and all Artie would say was that she had proved untrustworthy. What, Claudia asked, was she pawning Artifacts for gold or something? No, she hadn't  _done_  anything, she was just untrustworthy. Because that made sense. She was part of the team. How could you just throw away part of the team like she was a Bic pen out of ink? Helena was a fountain pen, the kind you refilled over and over again, not the kind of pen that had "Sue's Mammograms 'n' Stuf" emblazoned on the side. You kept her.  
  
Just to make things even more super-extra-awesome, Pete and Myka weren't talking to each other. They were all "Pass the sugar" "grunt." Claudia had heard they were like that before she got there, but no matter how hard she pried, she couldn't figure out how Pete had hit the reset button on their friendship. And it had to be Pete. As if Myka would mess things up.  
  
Claudia was just coming up with an extra-brilliant scheme to get everyone to be friends again, pooooossibly involving bowling, when Mrs. Frederic paid her a visit. The natural way, stepping out of the shadows when she was on a three-hour computer binge.  
  
"Ah!" Claudia cried, jumping up and nearly fumbling her laptop off her lap. "Not when I'm tumblr'ing!"  
  
"Ms. Donovan," Frederic said, naturally skipping the part of the conversation where she apologized for being Batman. "You're the closest thing I can find to a neutral party in all of this."  
  
"All of what? Is this about H.G.? Is she okay?"  
  
"Ms. Wells is fine. She wishes to speak to you."  
  
"Oh. Cool. Like, over coffee? I don't drink coffee, but I could go for a Danish."  
  
Mrs. Frederic set her valise on the table, opening it and sorting through as if she were conducting an autopsy. "H.G. Wells was planning to destroy the world. She considered it a kind of mercy, given the state of civilization. Naturally, the Regents didn't agree. She claimed to have abandoned her plan, which is why she told Agent Bering about it. Bering consulted with Latimer. Latimer told Artie. Artie told me. And I had no choice."  
  
"So… wait…" Claudia's head was spinning. If she didn't know better, she would accuse Mrs. Frederic of being a troll. H.G. punching Ctrl-Alt-Delete on the whole planet? "H.G.'s in jail?"  
  
"A Regent holding facility, for people with unacceptable information on the Warehouse who need to be handled."  
  
A thought hit Claudia. It skipped her brain and headed straight down her spine. "Are you bronzing her again? You can't! We all think about doing horrible things! A guy cut me off in traffic the other day, I thought about filling his iPad with kiddie porn, but I didn't!"  
  
"The Regents and I agree that to bronze H.G. would be… excessive. Her current status is in a kind of flux. For now, it's been decided that she be allowed communication with the outside world."  
  
"Outside—what's the inside world?"  
  
Mrs. Frederic didn't answer. She took something the size of a kickball out of her valise. It looked like a steampunk Pokeball. "This serves as Helena's access to you. Twist the dial on the top all the way to the right to summon here. Twist it all the way to the left to dispel her once more. I'm putting you in charge of her communications. I trust you to remain unbiased in your application."  
  
"Yeah, sure, of course." Claudia took the Pokeball and started fiddling with it immediately. She twisted the dial, but not all the way. "Wait… she's not, like… Spam or anything, right?"  
  
Mrs. Frederic looked from the Pokeball to Claudia. "It's merely a conduit, not storage. Think of it as a cell phone."  
  
"Alright," Claudia said, turning the dial around. "So why not just give her a cell phone?"  
  
The Pokeball lit up, a ring on the surface glowing, and Claudia dropped it. Helena appeared, gave Claudia a heartwarming look, and tried to speak. All that came out was static. She looked perturbed. Claudia scrambled to pick up the Pokeball and stand it up straight. There were little kickstands…  
  
"Claudia? Can you hear me now?" Helena asked, that beautiful British accent coming through loud and clear.  
  
"Absolutely, chief!" Claudia looked around to thank Mrs. Frederic, but she was gone. Natch. "What's up, Helena? Are they treating you okay? Do you need a file in a cake or something? Do you get cakes?"  
  
"I'm alright, Claudia." Helena braided her hands together. She looked okay… wore a simple maroon dress that looked better than any of the scrubs they'd had in the asylum. Not that she needed it, but she didn't have any make-up on. Maybe they let her have it, but she didn't bother. Ouch. "I would like to first assure you that there's no call for worry. The Regents are treating me quite fairly. It's been nice to have some time given over to quiet—I have a hundred years of reading to catch up on."  
  
"Oh, great, cool, groovy, you can read Jurassic Park," Claudia spouted sarcastically. " _When are they letting you out?_ "  
  
Claudia instantly regretted letting her mouth run away with her. Helena looked like she'd just been poisoned.   
  
"That is… a matter of some debate. I doubt there's much I can do to sway them in either direction, unless they're impressed by literary criticism. Let's not talk about me, it's unbecoming. How's the Warehouse?"  
  
"Oh, it's great. I mean, everyone's angry at each other and there might be an evil Warehouse going after evil Artifacts, but, ya know, business as usual."  
  
"And Myka?" Helena said, her voice so carefully still that Claudia knew it could only be an act. "She is… proceeding apiece?"  
  
"I have no idea what that means, but she's not seeing anyone else."  
  
"Claudia, Mrs. Frederic did explain the situation? You can hardly expect us to pick up where we left off, were that even possible."  
  
Now Claudia knew what kids felt like when their parents got divorced, although in her case it was more like her cool aunt and big sister had broken up, only not incestuous. "She misses you. Ya know, in a Myka way. She's not doodling your name on her notebooks, but you're on her mind. Even I can tell, and I'm not Miss Emotions 2011. Like, she gave me all your books, and then she asked for them back. Who does that?"  
  
Helena managed a laugh. It sounded so sad, being transmitted through a holo-projector from God knew where. "But she's well?"  
  
"Yeah. She's… she's Myka."  
  
"Good. And I trust, of course, that you and Pete and Artie are also… copasetic, I believe the word is?"  
  
"Yeah. Super-duper."  
  
Helena's eyes were darting around instead of meeting Claudia's gaze. She was ready to end the conversation. Claudia imagined she would look the same way if someone brought up the asylum.  
  
"Hey, Hel," Claudia said, packing as much warmth into her words as she could. "You do what you have to do to get out of there, okay? Come back to us. I'll do what I can on my end, but come back. Everyone misses you. Well, not Artie, but he's old, all he misses are eight-track tapes and wearing onions on his belt."  
  
"I would certainly be open to that," Helena said, with a cursory nod. "May I ask a favor?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Don't mention this to Myka. I'm not… up to speaking to her at the moment."  
  
"But she'd want to talk to you. She'd really want to talk to you."  
  
Helena looked at Claudia with eyes utterly drained of sentiment. "Perhaps I don't want to talk to her."  
  
***  
  
Claudia tried to draw Helena out of her shell. Every day, she'd switch the Pokeball on and have a chat with Helena. Sometimes, she caught her reading a book or lying down in a bed that disappeared as soon as Helena stepped away from it. But Helena was always there, every hour of the day. Something about that depressed Claudia.  
  
She tried her best not to bring up Myka, but it was hard not to notice that Helena didn't shy away from the name. When Claudia went over the latest Warehouse action, Helena usually had a proud smile when hearing Myka's actions. It was cute, in a lovey-dovey way Claudia never went for.  
  
She brought up the subject of Myka sparingly—stuff like "Myka's dying to talk about the latest Hunger Games casting" or "It's Sam's birthday today, Pete's trying to cheer her up." Helena never took the bait. The only thing that roused her was Claudia describing their latest case. As soon as Helena heard about Jericho's Horn, her head shot bolt upright.  
  
***  
  
"So, guys, I got a lead," Claudia announced to the team, holding the Pokeball behind her back. Not that it was necessary, since none of them knew what it was. She set it on Artie's desk, then thought better of that and put it on a chair.  
  
"What, Optimus Prime's testicle?" Pete asked.  
  
Myka didn't laugh even more than she hadn't before the break-up.  
  
"It's, uh… okay, so promise you won't get mad. Mrs. Frederic kinda… gave me H.G."  
  
Myka was the first to respond. " _What._ "  
  
"It's like a cell-phone!" Claudia said, gesturing to the Pokeball. "See, I can—"  
  
She twisted the dial too far in her excitement and Helena appeared, smiling to greet Claudia and then seeing her surroundings, the people—Myka.  
  
She recovered quickly, deliberately turning her back on Myka. "Hello, children. I take it Claudia's appraised you of the situation."  
  
"Not as such," Artie said brusquely, sitting down like he was determined to be unimpressed.   
  
"Put simply, I've been allowed to speak to Claudia from my imprisonment, and we were going over your current case when I recalled similar circumstances during my time with Warehouse 12."  
  
Steve, choosing to ignore the stony silence on all sides, offered his hand to Helena. "Hey. Nice to meet you. I'm Jinks. Everyone calls me the new guy. I'm new."  
  
"So was I." Helena callously swiped her hand through Steve's, her hologram fritzing back to normal as she held her hand up. "Well, judging by the ratio between your pointer and ring fingers, you're a declared bachelor, as they say. It's good to know you're not replacing me in  _every_  capacity."  
  
Seeing how Myka winced at the jibe, Pete turned red. "So you're just going to help us out of the goodness of your heart? What do you get out of it, Hannibal?"  
  
"I fail to see how I compare to a Carthaginian warlord," Helena replied evenly.  
  
"He means…" Myka started, and then faltered. There was something intimidating in how Helena was resolved not to look at her. "It's a pop culture reference."  
  
"Ah." Helena focused like a laser on Pete. "To answer your question, you seem to assume I'm still committed to my plan to restart civilization. And as tempting as that is at times… I gave up on it a long time ago. In any case, to allow a handful of people to die would do nothing for my old goal. It would merely be sadism. I trust we can all agree  _that_  is beyond me. It wasn't me, after all, who welcomed a woman back to the bosom of the Warehouse, only to spit her back out when I found she entertained dark thoughts."  
  
"Dark thoughts?" Pete barked. "You wanted to go Death Star on the planet!"  
  
"And if I had limited the scope of my destruction to simple suicide?" Helena demanded, finally losing her temper. Her voice scratched on the way out. She looked at Pete, but not quite at Myka. "That's what it was, in the end. A desire for ended pain. If I had told you such thoughts had a hold of me, but that I had conquered them, would you strap me down to keep me from harming myself? Or would you react with a modicum of grace and humanity?"  
  
"You want a cookie?" Artie asked.  
  
"Alright, can we just  _stop it_!" Claudia cried. "Whatever she's done or didn't do or…  _whatever!_  She wants to help, now, and we need her. So maybe we could just listen for five minutes and  _then_  go back to burning her in effigy?"  
  
"Claudia's right," Myka said quietly. She was folded neatly into a chair, one leg pulled up to her chest and held in place by her arms, like she was hiding. The sight made Claudia feel sick to her stomach. Myka was strong and brave and nice. She deserved to be happy.  
  
"Thank you," Claudia said. "Helena, if you could just…"  
  
"Gladly." Helena again fitted her hands together protectively, as if she could ward off the stares she received just by squeezing her locked fingers. "You see, in 1893, my latest invention was to be a rocket. All that remained was to find a suitable power source. Unfortunately, I had trusted the wrong person. A fellow Warehouse agent and lover of mine, who I had taken into my confidence, betrayed me, using Jericho's Horn to transform my vehicle into a weapon of destruction. Fortunately, in that case, I expected the betrayal and was able to counteract it. But unfortunately, the old saw is true. Those who don't learn from history…"  
  
The rest was lost in the sound of Myka slamming the door shut behind her.  
  
***  
  
"We've gotta get her back," Claudia told Pete, on the way to de-Artifact the current nutjob. Myka partnered with Steve. Always.  
  
"What, Helena? Yeah, that pesky world demolishing thing can just be her way, like sneaking other people's food out of the breakroom. 'Oh, that H.G., got us again!'"  
  
It really sucked that Pete got to drive the car. Made it hard to hit him. "Helena didn't screw Myka up, Pete. We did. Well, you did. But we bring Helena back and everything's hunky-dory."  
  
Pete shook his head like someone was offering him Canadian bacon pizza. "She had her chance."  
  
"Yeah. She did. And then the Regents took it away!"   
  
"We can't trust her," Pete said. "End of story."  
  
"Yeah, well, we don't need to trust her. We need Myka back. And to get Myka back, we need Helena."  
  
"Even if I wanted to, it's impossible. Not even Artie would go for it."  
  
"Then we'll start with him."  
  
***  
  
"No, no, absolutely not," Artie said, even willing to use a computer to avoid the conversation. He typed at the keyboard like he was a movie hacker and managed to change the screensaver. "End of discussion. H.G. Wells is not a Warehouse agent."  
  
"Told you," Pete said, leaning against the wall, presumably to carry Claudia out of the room in case she had a spaz attack.  
  
"She helped out with Jericho's Horn!" Claudia protested. "She didn't have to, but she did. Would you have done that if you were locked up?"  
  
"I wouldn't have been locked up!" Artie replied, now managing to play and lose Minesweeper and Solitaire at the same time. "Because I like the world. I wouldn't try to destroy it. I feel the basic job criteria for someone working to save the world, as we are called upon to do at times, would be not wanting the world to blow up. That's our chief goal. The pay is nice, but it's no real substitute."  
  
"She  _doesn't_  want to blow up the world anymore! You can make her swear on a stack of Bibles or pinky-swear or sign a loyalty oath. Or, or we could make her curator. No going into the field for her, just helping out around the Warehouse! She knows these Artifacts like the back of her hand!"  
  
"So your grand plan to make it impossible for Helena to hurt anyone is to put her in charge of the largest collection of powerful objects in existence? I don't think so."  
  
Claudia slapped her hands on his desk, shocking him away from the pop-ups he was trying to close. "Myka is hurting. Even if she weren't totally gay for H.G…"  
  
"I'm not hearing this," Artie said.  
  
"What, like it was a big deal when Jack and Rebecca did it? They were here, they were queer, how are you not used to it?"  
  
"Whatever-- _dalliance_ \--Agent Bering had—"  
  
"Helena made her happy," Claudia said, steamrolling on before she could shake from interrupting Artie. "And Myka would want her to be happy, even if they weren't together. She can't live with herself knowing what she did to H.G. So we have to make it right."  
  
Realizing Claudia wasn't getting out of his face anytime soon, Artie turned to Pete. "What do you make of all this?"  
  
"I, uh… don't get any bad vibes off H.G."  
  
"You didn't get any bad vibes off that chili cheese dog you found in the back of Leena's fridge last week, you still spent Tuesday on the toilet."  
  
"Thanks for letting me in on that," Claudia said. "I love knowing what guys talk about when I'm not around."  
  
Pete stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Much as I hate to admit it, if I had known how much H.G. meant to Myka, I never would've told you. Helena never did anything wrong. All she did do was ask for help, really, and maybe I've been in AA too long, but that's a good thing."  
  
Claudia shook her finger at Pete. "Exactly! We still have time to make this right, Artie. We're the good guys. We're supposed to help people. This is exactly the moment when we need to be trusting, optimistic goody-two-shoes, not like when I want to use the time machine to stop the Star Wars prequels from being made."  
  
Artie sighed. "I'll talk to Mrs. Frederic. But if Wells ends up destroying the world, don't come crying to me. I'll be on the moonbase."  
  
"We have a moonbase?" Claudia asked.  
  
***  
  
"The Regents have anticipated your request," Mrs. Frederic said from the shadows when Artie got home.  
  
He jumped. "Did you creep through a window? How is it not easier to just knock on the door and say hi?"  
  
Mrs. Frederic continued on. "Several among our number have been impressed by the commitment Agent Wells shows in her therapy sessions, as well as her insightful literary critique. If you believe your team is capable of working with her, we believe she's capable of working with them."  
  
Artie was caught short. He almost wanted to protest, but there was Myka to consider. He'd had his chances at happiness, and squandered them on his own. No one had taken them away. Not like he had done to her. "There'll need to be precautions."  
  
"I'm aware of that." Mrs. Frederic dropped a leather bracelet on counter. "Gandhi's sandal strap. It's absorbed so much concentrated non-violence over the years that no one who wears it can harm another. You hold onto it. I don't like having it on me."  
  
"What if Helena—?"  
  
"You'll also be watching her, of course. And we've attached a chip to make sure she doesn't take it off. But if all you've told me is true, then we needn't worry about it at all. Take whatever other precautions you deem necessary. But remember, she is part of your team. If we wanted her to be a prisoner, we'd leave her right where she is."  
  
***  
  
Myka came with them, naturally. It took a plane trip, a bus ride, and a rented car, but they reached the Regents' prison. It was a split-level house in the suburbs. When they parked in the garage, the floor sunk down for ten minutes until they reached a cave.   
  
Myka was stunned at how little the cave had been excavated. There were just a series of bars they had to be let through. Other than that, it was dark and cold, barely even lit.   
  
"I remember these," Artie said. "Sitting Bull's cave paintings are here. The man who discovered them ended up trying to scalp the Cleveland Indians, but we can't remove them because they're cultural treasures. Guess the Regents finally found a use for this place."  
  
Avoiding the veiled corners covered by yellow caution tape, they passed three more gates and came to a tent like a medical quarantine. Inside, there were six glass cells. The furthest one had a small shape in it.  
  
"There aren't any other prisoners?" Myka said haltingly, the unease she'd felt ever since coming in making its way to her mouth. "Who does she talk to?"  
  
"We gave her a transmitter," the Regents' man said, keying them into the tent. "She's been talking to you."  
  
All eyes turned to Claudia. "She never said anything. I thought she was, like, in the Village, I thought the most she had to worry about was big white beach balls!"  
  
The Regents' man finished punching his code into the door. As soon as it unlocked, Myka had pushed her way through. She didn't run, but walked in long, brisk strokes that carried her further than most  _could_  run, until she was pressed to Helena's cell, her hand against the glass, begging Helena to notice her.  
  
Helena had her back to Myka and the door; sitting on the bed, her face was buried in a book like she was leashed to it. But she stiffened under Myka's gaze, not turning any pages.  
  
Claudia showed up, tapping her hand on the glass. "Hey! H.G.! Guess who!"   
  
Helena exhaled, set her book aside without marking her place, and rose. She didn't look like hell. She just looked drained. No make-up, no shampoo, her clothes a simple T-shirt and slacks, barefoot. Even her toenails were unpainted. Myka had never seen her look less than glamorous and now she was the Before picture in a late-night ad.   
  
Myka stepped back, next to Claudia, the hand that had touched the glass coiled at her side. "This is where they keep you?" Myka demanded. It was easier to focus on the prison than the prisoner. "You can't even see the sun."  
  
"I don't need the sun," Helena said. The voice was a dry rattle in her throat. She filled a cup from the sink and drank. Her words regained some edge. "I wasn't expecting company. I would've tidied up."  
  
"No need," Myka burst. "We're taking you away."  
  
Helena's only response was a laugh. She smothered it in another drink.  
  
"I'm serious," Myka said. She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, small as it was. "You know me, I'm always serious."  
  
"Then am I dreaming?" She asked so harshly it was like torture. "I always seem to wake up from dreams about you."  
  
"Hey, guys?" Claudia tapped on the glass like Helena was a really big goldfish. "I hate to can all the lesbian drama, but maybe this One Tree Hill stuff can wait until we leave. I'm just saying, I doubt this conversation would be so emo if you were having it over Starbucks. I'll pay, I'm willing to take out that loan."  
  
Helena offered her hands to them like a criminal waiting to be cuffed.  
  
Artie, who had been hanging back, arrived. He brought the key to Helena's cell. Used it immediately. "You will not go on solo assignments. You will not be paired with Agent Bering. You will not be allowed onto the Warehouse floor unsupervised. You will wear this at all times." He set the Gandhi on Helena's desk. "Put it on when you're ready to leave."  
  
"Oh, stop, Artie, it's unbecoming, you being so lascivious in your old age." Helena picked the Gandhi up and twirled it around her finger. "No. No, I think not."  
  
"What d'ya mean, 'no'?" Claudia asked the last word in a dumb voice, then slapped both hands against the glass. "I know Artie's giving you a curfew and not letting you have boys in your room, but it's a start."  
  
"Of course. Note how he's warmed up to you." Helena nodded to the death glare Artie was giving Claudia. "You think you're all so merciful, letting me redeem myself for something I never did. Well, I'd prefer being in here than going out on a leash like a dog to piddle. At least here, it's quiet. No one judges me. No one lies to me."  
  
"When did I lie?" Myka asked, heartsick. She threw the cell door open, but couldn't go inside. So she just stood there, transfixed by the sight of Helena, not through glass or holographic signal, but close enough to touch. It drew the anger out of her like venom from a snake bite. "When did I lie?" she begged.  
  
Helena finally faced her. Everyone could see the toll it took on her. For a moment, Helena seemed so old she might never have been bronzed. "You said I could tell you anything."  
  
Myka looked away the way some people bit down on a bullet when they were being operated on. "There's a limit."  
  
Artie had been backing away. Claudia hurried him along. "We're just going to fill out some paperwork. There's probably oodles of paperwork."  
  
Neither woman noticed. Helena drew up to Myka like she couldn't pull away, but might try to. "That's just it, Bering. I've spent my entire life limited. I hid my intelligence, my sexuality, even my grief. Do you think the Warehouse would've allowed an emotional female in its employ? I had to play the merry widow while my little girl was in the ground, down where I couldn't get to her, couldn't save her!" Helena's body shook with the force of the sobs she was holding back. "And you tell me—you  _told_  me—that I don't have to be alone anymore. Now I'm here." She dropped onto the bed. Only her hands moved. Shaking. "I'd rather stay here than wait to find out what you'll do when I fail to live up to your expectations once more."  
  
Myka stared at her until she couldn't take the callous way Helena was splayed down anymore. She took a step inside the cell, pushed herself away. "I tried."  
  
***  
  
Helena had just started to cry, hot, angry, impotent tears, when Claudia came running back. "What, what,  _what_  are you doing?"  
  
Helena wiped her eyes hurriedly. " _Nothing._ "  
  
"Because it  _sounds_  like you're staying in jail just to get back at your ex. I was in the nuthouse and even I think that's kooky. Let's get out of here, you can just key her car or whatevs."  
  
Helena sat up to face her, gathering her hair into a bun to occupy her gesturing hands. "I'm afraid I can't expect a woman of your years, even a brilliant one, to understand."  
  
Claudia divebombed onto the bed next to her. "Oh, bull _shit_. You're brooding here like Brad Pitt in his tent."  
  
"Achilles."  
  
"Whatever!" Quick as a switch, Claudia spun down onto the ground in front of Helena, kneeling before her. "The thing is,  _I get it_. My brother was the only family I had and when I lost him, I blamed Artie. I hated that fat sack of fail. But we worked together, we fixed it, and now… I have a place. I  _belong_. You could belong too."  
  
Helena shook her head. Her hair came out of its bun, dropping messily around her shoulders. "Who's to say I don't belong here?"  
  
"Me, for one. And who says you do?"  
  
"The Regents," Helena said with a shrug.  
  
"Aw, since when do you care what the cool kids say?"  
  
"I am a 'cool kid'."  
  
"Ditto." Claudia jumped up and offered her hand to Helena. "So c'mon, let's team up and rule the school."  
  
Reluctantly, Helena gave her hand over, clamping the Gandhi across its wrist. "How do I look?"  
  
"Let's just say I'm into males and well-het, and I'd touch you inappropriately."  
  
***  
  
Helena walked through her room. No, not her room. Leena's room. This was just another place she could sleep, like the prison. Not different at all, and she hated the warmth she felt, surrounded by her paintings and books and furniture, the little world she'd started to build so she could bring Myka in and lock the door behind them. She hated that she was still weak enough to need it.  
  
There was the knock at the door. Myka. Helena just knew. And she hated that they had to knock at each others' doors and really think before answering. "Come in," she said at last. It couldn't hurt worse than it already did.  
  
Myka wore a turtleneck and knit pants, flip-flops, not too dressy and not too comfortable. She had her hands stuffed in her pockets. Helena couldn't tell if they were fidgeting or fists. "Hey."  
  
"Hello," Helena said. She dusted her fingers off on her vest. She wasn't sure why. "Myka."  
  
"H.G." Myka smiled nervously. "Is it alright if I call you Helena?"  
  
"It is."  
  
"Good." Myka nodded a little, now biting her lip. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Not afraid to be alone with the nefarious criminal?"  
  
Myka didn't take the bait. "You can even close the door."  
  
Helena did, as soon as Myka had come in. "Sit. Please." She'd set up two chairs by the fireplace, slanted towards each other, with a little table in between, inlaid with a chessboard pattern. They could play a game or just set down a tea tray there. Helena and whoever sat with her.  
  
Helena sat down across from Myka, pulling her arms in around her. Myka tried to strike a neat posture, crossing her legs, balancing her hands on her knee. She looked at Helena and it all fell apart. "I don't know what to say to you."  
  
"No, I expect you don't," Helena replied, not sure what she wanted to hear.  
  
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?"  
  
Helena took a long look at her, not allowing her eyes to skirt away but focusing on the woman. The worn lines of her face, the out-of-place strands where her hands had run through her hair over and over again, the way her lips turned downward as a matter of course. "I loved you."  
  
Myka squirmed like a butterfly on a pin. "Is that all?"  
  
Helena clenched her teeth until it hurt. She closed her eyes. "I want you to stay." She opened them again. "But you can't."  
  
Myka's hand was jammed up against her face, the heel scrubbing at her eye for a moment, eradicating something. "Give me your hand."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just do it."  
  
Helena held out her hand.  
  
"The other one."  
  
The one with the Gandhi.  
  
Helena presented it, thrusting her prison in Myka's face. "There it is. Unmolested. See how trustworthy I am?"  
  
Myka pulled it off. While Helena was still gaping at her, Myka stuffed it in an Artifact bag, then wrapped another around Helena's wrist. A perfect replica.  
  
"I do trust you," Myka said. "That one doesn't work. You can hit me, if you like."  
  
"I'll take your word for it." Despite herself, Helena felt a thrill at being cared for, trusted. It was far too late, far too little, but it sparked something deep inside her. She had to kill it quickly. "What does this change, exactly? I already knew you were sorry."  
  
"I guess it doesn't change anything," Myka said, standing. Holding the Artifact bag to her chest. "I just wanted to make up for what I've done."   
  
Helena didn't tell her the truth, as she left. That would be cruel. To tell Myka she could never make up for making Helena feel the way she had… and then leaving her feeling the way she did.

 


End file.
